


All the Little Fires

by get_xniped



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: As I go along, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Behavior, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, guns n stuff, hello this is my first story, i did not plan any of the plot i'm just making it up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:27:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24936787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/get_xniped/pseuds/get_xniped
Summary: Bloodhound has seen challengers rise and fall, some quitting, some joining, some leaving in pieces. This one pushes the limits of any deity the Outlands has ever known.On the other side, a machine that knows only vengeance laughs at the hunter's puny gods and goddesses.The ring is ever closing in, be it in King's Canyon, World's Edge, or anywhere in between.
Kudos: 23





	1. Rituals

# All the Little Fires 

Their ritual was the same for every game. They entered their room at the back of the dropship, let Artur hop into his cage, left a few peanuts in the cage, then struck a match to light the candles around their room, using each long white candle to pass the flame on to the next.

Perhaps for some the hunt began with the first drop, or the first shots fired. For Bloodhound the hunt began with the striking of the match, the smell of sulphur diffusing as sparks flew and traced arcs in the air. The outcome of the hunt, and the fate of those not yet made Legends who sat anxious in the bottom level of the dropship, all were decided in the dropship, hours before first blood. They flicked the blackened match into the garbage.

Next to them, the scientist’s chemicals sprawled in canisters and glassware of various shapes across the cubicle, only a thin wall separating the two units. Bloodhound’s device pinged in their pocket, the same one used to pick up the banners of their félagi fighters should they fall. In this preliminary round, they were placed with two unknown fighters in the belly of the ship, as were each of the other Legends.

They checked over the faces of their two squadmates on the device. One was dark-skinned and dark-haired with an overconfident smirk and arched brow, like he knew something Bloodhound didn’t. Unlikely, given it was only his second season and he didn’t make Legend in the last one. The other was frozen in a wide-eyed half-smile as if the camera had caught her off guard. A quick swipe on the device revealed their names—or at least their arena names—to be Comet and Salem. Bloodhound took one last glance at the two faces before putting their device away to recognize them later when they entered their formations of three to drop.  
They often passed the hours in the dropship like this, reading, whittling icons from small pieces of driftwood, and making charcoal sketches intermittently. Occasionally Crypto’s cat, a small ginger tom, would pad down the hallway and approach Bloodhound’s room for some food, but today, she was nowhere to be found.

The dropship jolted as they entered the atmosphere of Talos, eliciting a squawk of surprise from Artur. A candle tipped over but Bloodhound quickly caught and righted it before it could burn anything, placing the wooden icon of the goddess Eir back next to it and whispering a quick prayer of apology. They opened the blinds and let light flood into the room, offering a view of the woods below as the trees gradually became stumps and faded into World’s Edge.  
Off in the distance, a few lights flickered. Could it be one of the villages? Bloodhound had thought all the villagers, those who chose to live without technology, had left for offworld already or joined the city, and yet…their thoughts returned to the village.

_  
Cubes of rabbit meat sizzled in the pot hanging over the campfire, the fat slowly melting into a pool in the bottom of the pot and bubbling as the cast iron grew ever hotter._

_“Pass me the salt, kid,” the man commanded, holding out his hand. But Bloodhound wasn’t listening, they were watching the fire pop and send embers out into the cool evening air. Two months had passed since they had joined their uncle in this way of life, balancing on the edge of civilization and all the child had ever known, but they still were not used to all the differences._

_A single ember soared out of the flames and landed in the dirt. Having seen their uncle blowing on the campfire to nurture it to life, Bloodhound got on their knees to blow on the ember, imagining a whole new fire sprouting from the ground like a balloon._

_“What are you blowing on the ground for, kid?” The man stopped stirring the pot. “I said pass me the salt!”_

_Bloodhound froze, still unused to their uncle’s gruff way of speaking. It was so unlike their gentle mother and absentminded father. “Sorry, Uncle Artur,” they said, scrambling for the salt cellar. “I just wanted to see if I could make another fire from…that…little dot?”_

_Artur blinked. “The spark?” He laughed as he spooned salt into the pot, his sonorous voice resonating in the trees. He added some chopped tomatoes and snapped asparagus stalks in half, throwing them into the pot and giving it a stir, before continuing. “Kid, you could blow hard enough to melt the ice around that tower and not make a fire from that spark.”_

Now Bloodhound regarded the tower as it came into view from the dropship window, its ice spikes reaching far into the sky. They saluted their father’s final resting place before putting out the candles and rejoining the other Legends in the bottom of the ship in the search of their squadmates.


	2. Marked

The belly of the ship reeked of sweat and of fear.

The simulacrum had been instructed not to linger in the cramped metal compartment, which had scarcely enough headroom to accommodate his full height. He often slouched to avoid clipping his headscarf on any low-hanging pipes or loose wires.

This did not stop him from sitting at the base of the stairs, sharpening the tips of his fingers and toying with his silence orbs while staring down each and every new competitor. Some avoided his gaze, choosing instead to stare conspicuously up at the ceiling or down at their shoes. Some glanced furtively at him with wide eyes before deflecting their gaze elsewhere. One or two sometimes dared meet him directly in the eye.

And this time, one did. Revenant stopped fiddling with his silence orb to stare him down, orange eyes glowing in the murky darkness of the airship hull. The competitor didn’t budge, the corner of his mouth turning up in a smirk. _A challenge? This will be fun,_ the simulacrum thought silently, poring over the young man’s dark skin, coiled black hair, and sharp eyes. _You’ll be the first._ He let his hand sharpen into a knife, as naturally as a skinsuit might crack their knuckles or scratch an itch. If this made the competitor nervous, he was trying very hard not to show it, though he shifted his gaze after a few more moments.

He let each finger’s blades retract back into their sheaths, his hands returning to their normal shape while he loaded his memory to make sure he had the brazen fighter’s face down. He found his squadmates’ faces as well—one who was too nervous to look directly into the camera for her profile shot, and one who had bleached blond bangs partially covering his eyes in that absurd new fashion. Revenant rolled his eyes and wondered if the gamemakers put him with the most useless competitors on purpose to balance the game.   
Within a few minutes, he heard footsteps of the other Legends starting to head down the staircase. Bangalore—the IMC vet Anita Williams, as he recalled from his memory files—was always first, in true military style.

“Hey, tin man,” she called out from behind. “Thought they told you to stay outta here until it’s time.”

He looked over his shoulder. “It’s time when I say it is.”

She walked ahead without acknowledging him, even though he knew she had heard him. Bloodhound was the next one to come down. A hush fell over the new contestants upon seeing the reigning champion for the past four seasons and all eyes fell on the masked hunter. He respected their thirst for the hunt, their understanding for the ways of life and death. They, too, knew the look that came into a person’s eyes as they realized they were watching their own last moments. Although he couldn’t be sure, he thought the hunter met their gaze from behind their silver-paned goggles. Not that he cared—they were merely one skinsuit among hundreds with whom he happened to share a mutual understanding. There was no thought or hesitation needed in the carving of flesh—much less prayer.

The rest of the Legends came rumbling down the stairs. The holographic fool sent out a copy of himself to impress his squadmates, attracting more than a few of the other new competitors for an audience. The engineer rubbed her hands, arcs sparking between her palms, and levitated the glasses off of another newbie’s face while giggling. At the other end of the dropship, Caustic looked tired and his squadmates looked more terrified than impressed with him as their leader, yet he still held a conversation with them and let a non-lethal amount of his gas out from its canister to show them how it would look—and feel—up close.

Conversation. Revenant silently wondered what that was like. He waited until all of the Legends had found their underlings before finding the two stragglers still buckled into their seats. The girl refused to meet him in the eye and stood up quickly, bouncing her heel against the ground with anxiety. He searched his memory for any information on her. Ah, so the girl’s arena name was Pilgrim. And the boy…

The young competitor stood up and cleared his throat. With his bangs swept up under a black hat, Revenant almost didn’t recognize his surprisingly sharp face despite his flawless memory drive. Perhaps he was aging at last, or the blow from Wraith’s kunai during their last match had gone in deeper than he’d assumed.

“I’m Kitchener,” he articulated, looking up at Revenant though he was hardly short himself for a human. His pale skin looked sickly with the orange cast from Revenant’s eye-lights. “I take it you’re our leader?” He held out his hand for the simulacrum to shake.

_Gutsy,_ Revenant thought darkly. Perhaps he’d humour him. He gripped the boy’s hand in his own metal claw and gave it a shake before extending his index finger at the last moment to brush the blade against the underside of the boy’s wrist. His bright eyes widened for a second, a tendon next to his throat tightening before relaxing again once he realized he hadn’t been cut by his own ally. The simulacrum chuckled, the sound rumbling from deep in his chest.

“ONE MINUTE UNTIL DROP,” the ship’s monotone voice read out. “LEGENDS AND COMPETITORS, ASSUME YOUR POSITIONS.”

Revenant turned to take his place in the formations of three. Behind him, he spied Bloodhound’s squad, complete with a familiar dark-skinned face. He scrolled his memory. It was indeed the one who had refused to break his stare from earlier on.

He’d thought this would be fun. No, this would be downright delicious. It would be a delight to watch the ever-stoic skinbag hunter realize their squad was marked for death before they’d even dropped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I mention this will be told from multiple points of view? 
> 
> On another note, thanks for reading and I suppose this story's moving somewhat slowly...


	3. The Hunt Begins

Through the metal of the platform Bloodhound was standing on, they could feel their squadmates’ collective shudder as they descended through the dropship floor into the cold open air. All around them, the other squads were formulating their plans and preparing to drop.

“THESE ARE YOUR APEX CHAMPIONS,” the metallic voice that announced events in the arena intoned. Bloodhound could see their banner card come up on one of the banners below, flanked by those of Comet and Salem. “Blessings are upon me and brethren.” Bloodhound’s face heated up behind their mask when they heard their own voice, modulated and echoed, sound off the concrete and glass of the former city. The gamemakers had urged them to record and choose one that was more…violent? One that fit the others’ perception of them better? Bloodhound did not live for the eyes of others, only those of the gods. The unpaid media intern in the recording studio with them was hardly inclined to argue with them.

Skyhook was visible directly underneath the squad’s feet as soon as the platform dropped. Train Yard, Fuel Depot, Sorting Factory, and finally Lava City and the Dome sprawled ahead in a straight line. The hot zone of the day was marked as Thermal Station on their maps. Already Elliot—Mirage, as his squadmates likely knew him— had dropped with his team in the general direction of Lava Fissure, no doubt seeking to impress his squadmates with the docked ship of his design.

Bloodhound thought they recognized Comet, their squadmate with the sharp grin, from a previous season though they had not chanced upon one another in the arena. The other, a younger girl who called herself Salem, was unknown. They briefly considered waiting for the hot zone to drop but with two relatively inexperienced squadmates, they thought, it would be better to drop somewhere less contested. They tapped their device to ping an area between Geyser and Fuel Depot that had some small buildings. “This might be a good place to land.”

At the same time, Comet raised his device. A green diamond appeared on Skyhook, which the dropship was already partially over. Clearly, this new comrade was eager to fight, though this was more likely a call for attention than a true, intimate confidence in a fighter as inexperienced as him. He looked to Bloodhound from the other side of the platform as if posing a challenge, his chin held high.

To drop or not to drop? Bloodhound knew the young fighter wouldn’t drop without them—he wouldn’t last a half minute. The drop was in their hands. It was unlikely that other squads would drop so soon, though; it they were lucky, they could have the powerful weapons and gear in Skyhook to themselves, from where they could advance as necessary towards the ring.

Bloodhound nodded at Comet, whose eyes widened. Had he not expected them to accept the challenge? It no longer mattered; they were the first to launch off the platform, followed closely by Comet, his jumpkit jets flaring with intensity as he powered downwards and forwards. Salem drifted ten or fifteen meters behind, constantly checking her device’s map to make sure she was headed in the right direction. Bloodhound noted her disposition for precision; perhaps, this would come in handy later on.

Already, though, Bloodhound spotted a trio of orange trails headed for the west side of Skyhook. They couldn’t make out the two newer competitors as anybody they recognized, but could make out Octane’s bright green shorts and vest. It was only natural for such a hasty soul to drop as soon as possible, and they were already further down than Bloodhound’s own squad by a fair twenty or thirty meters. _Bless me, Allfather,_ they breathed behind the mask. _Your helmet-bearer, raven-feeder, that I may slàtra._

Bloodhound pinged the east side of the map and deflected their trail towards it, narrowly dodging the edge of a particularly tall building. They ducked around a corner and, in landing, shoved open a set of double doors to land inside. Comet had split off to find a different building nearby, but Salem remained close on Bloodhound’s heels. Straight away they picked up a blue body shield, an R-99, and a G7 scout with plentiful ammunition and a mid-range scope, but their follower was not so fortunate with a knockdown shield, helmet, and two stacks of heavy rounds with no weapon to use them with. She looked to Bloodhound, hands shaking as she pocketed the ammo stacks.

On their device, they could see that Comet had already picked up a shotgun and Wingman. Fitting, that this brazen fighter would prefer tools of close combat. In this position, though, with Octane’s squad nearby and more squads betrayed by gunshots to the west, Bloodhound knew they had to take the charge in close quarters.

“Salem. Take this.” They handed the G7 and several stacks of ammo to the young woman, who almost dropped the gun and fumbled the stacks into a newly found backpack, staring at Bloodhound as if they were a deity descended from the heavens. They patched through to the comms. “Comet, stay close. There’s another squad nearby. Pick up some more shells for that shotgun.” There was some static, then he replied in the affirmative.

Comet arrived within moments at the base of the building, and the three searched through the building for more items then regrouped on the roof. “Good, now hand me that shotgun,” Bloodhound instructed.

Comet tightened his grip on it defensively. “You just said there’s a squad nearby. I can get close to attack them.”

A young wolf, hungry for blood. “Very well,” Bloodhound continued. “Then tell me where, exactly, they are right now.”

Comet hesitated, and never continued, instead handing over the weapon and taking the Wingman out of its holster on his hip with a click. It was clever of him to bring one for the revolver. Perhaps he had planned all along to pick the Wingman up.

“Follow my lead,” Bloodhound said. “I will scan. You will snipe. That revolver is good at distance.” They nodded at the Wingman in Comet’s hand. Immediately they hit the device on their wrist and a cone of orange sonar beamed outwards, highlighting Octane and his two squadmates. The daredevil had planted a jump pad down close to the balcony of one building and was gesturing wildly to the other two.

Bloodhound wasted no time. They vaulted over the railing of the building, climbed a fence, and encountered Octane leading the pack, no longer glowing now that the sonar had worn off. Behind them, they heard Comet wonder aloud if the “orange stuff” was radioactive. The hunter discharged two shots into Octane, which were blocked by their body shield, but a lucky third fired into his helmetless head took him down.

“Wait, amigo,” Octane spluttered. “It’s only—” He coughed with pain. “Only the beginning of the match!”

In this moment, Bloodhound could almost understand Caustic’s fascination with his _subjects,_ as he called them. Shots sounded out around them as Comet and Salem fired—whether to kill or just to cover, they weren’t certain. More than a few landed, however, and soon one of Octane’s squadmates were down as well. The hunter pulled out their hatchet and, turning around to where they had heard the third squadmate’s footfalls, planted it squarely in her chest. Miraculously, she remained alive, but a piercing shot landed in her head and a moment later, all three _andskoti_ were replaced by cold steel boxes while their mortal bodies were first cloaked, then transported back into the dropship.

Mortal, indeed. The daredevil was of no concern—no doubt he had worked out enough paperwork and technicalities with the gamemakers to ensure he would be taken out before the point of permanent death—and the second enemy had only been downed, not killed. Bloodhound looked up towards the rooftop and saw Salem still peering through the scope of her rifle, a wisp of grey smoke drifting upwards from the barrel. The third would certainly have to be blessed to survive the hit. But such was the hunt. And the quiet one had proven herself useful.

Comet shot Salem a sideways look of mixed surprise and jealousy as Bloodhound approached. He checked his device. The kill had been registered to Salem, though he had landed a fair few shots with his Wingman, even without a scope. “Guess you’ve made your name,” he said.

“You made a kill too,” she responded without contempt. Comet scanned her face for any hint of flippancy as he was so attuned to hearing among the other competitors in the dropship, but found none.

Without replying, he hopped the railing to join the hunter as they looted the deathboxes. “You know,” he addressed Bloodhound. “I thought you’d have killed more yourself. Maybe all three. I mean, not trying to put you down or anything since it’s only our first fight, but it was a pretty even split.”

Bloodhound turned to face him, but the fact that he could only see his own reflection in the other’s goggles was unnerving. “Does it matter? There is now one squad less in the ring.”

“I mean, no, it doesn’t, but I was just thinking, you know?” Comet thought he could feel the stare from behind the mask.

He heard Bloodhound exhale while attaching a barrel stabilizer to their gun. How uncanny it was, he thought, the way their mask concealed their expression but made their voice audible for all to hear.

“It is as it was willed,” they said after a few moments. “The kills we—” He was cut off by Salem.

“There’s a squad approaching,” she whispered, a note of panic in her voice. The two looting the boxes looked up to where she remained, laying on her stomach on the rooftop with one eye before her scope. As if on command, one well-placed shot hit Comet in the side and broke his shields in one go. He yelped and fell back, scrambling on all fours into the building.

Bloodhound checked their device. The ring was far, a fair two or three hundred meters from their position. “They’re closing in,” Salem said again, her whisper growing more urgent.

The hunter closed their eyes and let their mind quiet even as Comet volleyed some choice sarcasm back at the girl. They mouthed a silent prayer and let the red gas fill their mask, flooding them with divine strength.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops, I delayed this a little.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm planning on updating this once a week! 
> 
> This is my first work.


End file.
